


Crossworlds

by xxyowzaxx



Series: Forever X [1]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Entire planet at war, F/M, Married Couple, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Mutual Pining, Portals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:37:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxyowzaxx/pseuds/xxyowzaxx
Summary: The first in my Forever X series.After being gone for over a year, Alison Blaire suddenly appears in Hank McCoy's lab battered, disoriented and without Longshot. What happened on Mojoworld? And where is Alison's husband?
Relationships: Alison Blaire/Longshot
Series: Forever X [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788970
Comments: 6
Kudos: 3





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first story posted to AO3. To say I'm nervous is an understatement. I hope you all enjoy this story! Maybe consider it an AU?
> 
> I do not own the X-Men or related media and/or characters. This is simply a work made for fun and enjoyment for fellow fans. I receive no payment for this piece and give full disclaimer that I own absolutely nothing from the franchise.

_One_

Bobby Drake stands with his arms folded in front of his chest and a brow raised. “When did you last eat? Or slept for that matter?”  
  


A noncommittal grunt answers from deep within the Beast’s lab. “Some time... I think?”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “And I’m assuming you’ve neglected to shower as well. That would explain the smell down here anyways.” 

Hank, hefty with muscle and sporting unruly blue fur, emerges from the shadows of the X-Mansion’s extensive lab. He grins toothily at his friend, ignoring the diss to his personal hygiene. “I’ve done it, Bobby.” He raises one of his large paws, holding some round _thing_ , roughly the size of a softball. 

“Her name,” Hank beams proudly and hands his invention to his friend. “is Alice.” 

Bobby raises an eyebrow at the spherical hunk of metal. “Huh,” he tosses the object up, catches it and observes it’s rough surface. “Is there a specific reason you’ve named it?” 

Hank nods fervently. “Indeed. Alice is a portal, a _cross dimensional_ portal. Fit with the ability to send travelers to other worlds, other universes!” 

“Ah.” Bobby grins and passes back Hank’s pride and joy. “Alice in Wonderland. I get it.” 

“Precisely!” He moves to a nearby desk and wakes the computer back to life. “And, if my calculations are correct, all my efforts will be worthwhile.” 

Bobby scratches his chin. “Don’t we already have a portal-maker?”

“Alice is travel size.” 

“Of course, how convenient.” Bobby smiles. “And, though I’m impressed, I _am_ offended that you’ve kept this thing from me.” 

“Alice is more than just a _thing_.” 

“Fine,” Bobby rolls his eyes. “I’m offended that you kept your precious _travel size cross dimensional portal_ from me.” 

Hank murmurs some indiscernible nonsense over his shoulder and keeps typing. Clearly he has filled his social quota for the day. 

“Alright man,” chuckling, Bobby makes to leave. “Try to eat something and get some -” 

Suddenly Alice fritzes and frazzles and flashes a terrible white light, blinding the men. Hank topples back in his chair, falling hard to the ground with an “Umph!” and Bobby throws his arms over his eyes, trying to block the intense light and yelling curses at Hank for building the blasted thing.

A figure materializes before them, the blinding shine of Alice’s malfunction haloing a physique. As the light dims, Alison Blaire stands in the doorway, still as Lot’s Wife and pale as a ghost. 

Hank gapes from the floor. “Oh my stars and -”.

“Holy Hell!” Bobby swears. “What just happened?”

The Beast shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet. “I have _no_ idea.” He steps towards Alison cautiously. “Alison?”

“Ali?” Bobby comes to stand next Hank. 

Hank waves a hand in front of Dazzler’s blank face. He takes a mental inventory of the injuries she has sustained. Mostly she looks malnourished, with periorbital dark circles under her eyes and hollow cheeks. 

She makes no move and stares at nothing. 

Hank frowns and mutters, “This is quite concerning…”

“I’ll say,” Bobby agrees.

“Alison?” Hank snaps his fingers near Alison’s nose. “Can you hear me?” When no answer is given, he turns to Bobby. 

“Dude, she and Longshot have been gone for over a year.”

“Indeed,” Hank nods, tapping a furry finger against his chin in thought. “Alison, where is Longshot?”

“Longshot…” Alison’s voice is empty and distant. 

And then, “Oh my _God_ !” she gasps, and her hands fly to her mouth as sudden dawning comes upon her. “ _Longshot!_ ” Quickly, Dazzler whirls around to see nothing but the fried Alice.

“ _No!_ ” She screams. “Oh my God! No! No! _Longshot_ !” Tears stream down her cheeks and her knees give out. Quickly, Hank grasps her by the elbows and holds her up. “ _Longshot! No, Longshot! ”_

Hank gives Bobby a worried look. “Call for help!” 

Frantically, Bobby scours Hank’s desk for his commlink. When the device is finally found, he shouts into it. “Rogue! Are you there? Do you copy?”

From the other side comes the sweet, “Hi yah Sugah. What’s got yah in a -”

“Rogue get your ass down to Hank’s lab _right now!_ ” Bobby yells. “Dazzler just came blasting through a freaking _portal_ Hank apparently built and we _need you here!_ ”

“Ah’m on my way.” She clicks off and Bobby quickly returns to Hank and the wailing Alison Blair. 

“Ali,” Bobby steps in front of her, allowing Hank to begin preparations in the medbay. Gently he places his hands on her shoulders. “Look at me. We’re gonna get Longshot back - wherever the hell he is. But -” 

“No!” Dazzler shakes her head. “No, you don’t understand! They killed him! _They killed my husband!_ ” She shrieks with raw, horrendous pain and clings to Bobby’s shirt for stability. 

“Hey, _hey._ ” Bobby cups her face with his hands, forcing her to look at him through her hysteria. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Hank is gonna fix this portal thing - again, thanks for telling me about it, _bro_.”

Hank glares at him in passing, cradling an armful of medical equipment. “Now is not the -” 

“Dude, I’m down here practically _every day_ with you and you hide that thing from me? How?” Bobby frowns. 

“ _Now_ is _not_ the _time_ , Robert!”

Wailing, Alison collapses against Bobby’s chest, hyperventilating through her sobs. He wraps his arms around her, one hand stroking her long blonde hair in an attempt to soothe her.

“What’s goin’ on?” Rogue bursts through the lab doors. 

Hank waves her to follow him. “This way! Help me in the medbay.” 

Glancing at the other two briefly, Rogue trails after him. “Is she okay? What happened?” 

As Hank relays the absurd event, Bobby calmly speaks to Alison. “It’s going to be alright. Can you walk?”

She doesn’t respond and only continues to cry and moan.

He bends to scoop her up and carries her to the medical wing attached to the laboratory. Hank readies a defibrillator as Rogue hangs a bag of IV fluids. Gently, Bobby sets Alison on a bed and crouches in front of her. He pushes back her blond hair and lifts her chin, making her eyes meet his. “Ali.” 

Her bottom lip quivers. “He’s-he’s.”

Bobby shakes his head. “I don’t believe it, Ali. Longshot’s a survivor.” 

“What happened, sugah?” Rogue asks softly. She sits next to Alison and wraps an arm around her. 

“They killed him,” Alison whispers. “I know they did.” 

“Who?” Bobby prompts. “Mojo? Did you see?”

She bites her trembling lip. “I-I,” her breathing hitches. 

“Hey,” Bobby places a hand on her knee. “Ali, we’re going to take care of you. And we’re going to get Longshot back. But you have to tell us what happened.” 

Rogue nods. “We just want tah help, Daz.”

Hank, satisfied with his preparations, comes to stand behind Bobby. He looks down at Alison with a sad expression. “Perhaps we shouldn’t prompt her right away. Trauma is damaging. And if Longshot is dead -”

“He’s not,” Bobby is firm. “There’s no way.”

Alison cries and hides her face in her hands. Rogue hugs her to her chest and shoots a worried look at the men. 

“Ah think Hank’s right. We shouldn’t press her. Let her sleep, get her some food and water. Let Hank run his tests and make sure she ain’t have anything serious happen to her.” 

“I can assure you,” Hank frowns at the woman weeping in front of him. “Something serious has indeed happened to her.” 

*

Alison wakes with a terrible headache. And a catheter in her wrist. She groans and finds her entire body ridiculously sore from exertion. Instead of attempting to rise, she chooses to lay as still as possible. 

Her eyes ache. Small wonder, considering the endless river that flowed from them the night before. 

_Oh, Longshot_ , a lump forms in her throat. _I’m so sorry._

Fresh tears come and fall and soak her pillow. She doesn’t care. Her soul has shattered. Nothing matters anymore. 

“Ah, good morning my dear,” Hank’s low voice gently travels through the medbay. He is blurry through her eyes, thanks to her crying. She doesn’t care. Let him see her sorrow. He only smiles softly at her. “Would you like a shower?”

She stares at him, nearly gawking at his suggestion. A shower would not clean her from her guilt. It would not wash away the sorrow she felt. A shower would not bring her Longshot. She says nothing and turns away from him. 

Her bed sinks with Hank’s weight as he sits at her feet. “I see.” He sighs and gently pats her calf. “I shan’t push you, Alison. But if there is anything that I can do to make matters better, please don’t hesitate to say so.”

“Can you bring my husband back from the dead?” Her voice is rough and soft. 

A moment passes before Hank answers. “It is unwise to play God.” 

Ali scoffs and wipes at her eyes. “God can fuck off for all I care. He took my husband for no reason.” She refuses to look at Hank and instead glares at the wall before her. “Longshot was a _good_ man. He was leading _slaves_ to their freedom. Why would God take away someone with such a noble cause?”

“Perhaps Kurt could answer more eloquently than I, but,” Hank pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I do believe -” 

“I don’t care about your beliefs,” Alison cuts him off. “I’m not in a mood to discuss the greater good or God’s mysterious plan for mankind.”

Hank nods. “Right. Of course. Shall I -”

“I don’t care what you do. I don’t care about anything anymore.” She shuts her eyes and breathes deeply. 

He stares at her sadly, unsure if there is anything he could say to ease her torment. “I am truly sorry, Alison.” He rises and leaves her to her tears. 

*

She doesn’t know how long she slept the second time. She doesn’t care. 

*

Rogue watches her out of the corner of her eye as she and Bobby speak with Hank across the room. She can’t bring herself to care. They can talk about her until the sun gives out. It is nothing to her. 

“Hey Daz,” Rogue approaches her warily and reaches a gloved hand out to tuck loose strands of hair behind Ali’s ear. “Think we could give yah some breakfast?”

Ali blinks, frowns, and rolls over. 

Bobby stands on the other side, hands stuffed in the pockets of his denim jeans. He offers her half a smile. “I make pretty good smoothie bowls. If yah want one.” 

She can practically hear Rogue’s eye roll. “ _Anyone_ can make a smoothie bowl.” 

Bobby crouches down to meet Ali’s face. “You gotta eat, Al.” 

She shuts her eyes and tunes him out. If she ignores him, he will disappear and she can retreat to the haze she’s been living in. She can fill her head full of thoughts of Longshot and the life they had and could have had before...before…

“Ali,” Bobby rubs her arm. “C’mon. You gotta get up.” 

If she keeps her eyes shut...if she pretends she’s not here...she can...can…

She doesn’t register that she’s crying until Bobby gently wipes a tear away with his thumb. She opens her eyes to see him staring at her sadly. Rogue and Hank stand behind him with concerned expressions. 

“Talk to us, please.” Rogue’s voice cracks, as if she can’t handle what she’s seeing. 

Ali wants to glare; they shouldn’t waste all their fretting on her. She’s still alive, afterall. 

“C’mon,” Bobby takes her by the arms and hoists her up to sit. “I’m not watching you waste away.” 

She rests her head back against the wall, not bothering to put up a fight. She sighs and closes her eyes. 

“I’ll make some tea,” Hank suggests. 

“Coffee,” Ali mutters. 

There’s a smile in his voice, “Coffee. Anything else?” 

“Aspirin.” 

Hank leaves for the kitchen. Ali doesn’t speak until he’s returned and she’s taken a long drink from her steaming brew. She looks down at her mug and considers remaining mute. But the others are looking at her expectantly and if she doesn’t say something she’s sure they’ll snap with worry. 

Quietly, she speaks. “They called him the Fallen Messiah.”

Her hands shake as she grips the mug tighter. The others wait patiently, sympathetically. 

“We’d nearly succeeded.” She sniffles and wipes at her eyes. “The rebellion. We were so _close_ . L-Longshot,” she struggles to say his name. “He had planned it meticulously with Quark and the others. They’d called it the ‘Final Act’ and were so _sure_ it was flawless. Luck was on our side, afterall. And what motive is more pure than wanting to free slaves?” 

She looks up from her mug. “It took months to execute. Longshot refused to run a risk and went into hiding outside of the city, living in caves with a handful of rebels. He-he,” she sniffles. “He wouldn’t _let_ me stay with him. He said Mojo was looking for _him_ , not me. And he couldn’t bear it if I were caught. We were separated for weeks at a time, only seeing each other briefly when I would come with a small party providing supplies. We smuggled what we could to them. Food, bandages, blankets. And anything that could be rigged to explode.”

She remembers the way his clothes hung off his body like tattered rags and the dirt that clung to his skin. His voice had grown hoarse and she could hear wheezing in his lungs as he breathed. But he had a fire burning in his blue eyes like she had never seen before. And so Alison didn’t prod him about his health or if he was sleeping enough or eating at all. They were in the midst of a war and she knew his focus had to be contained to the objective.

“And then,” Alison shuts her eyes tightly and bites her bottom lip. Her friends watch with concern and pity, waiting for her to gather the strength to continue. “The Spineless Ones found us.” 

The room is silent around her. It’s then that she remembers the aspirin and takes it, following the pill with a swill of hot coffee. She settles back against the pillows. “A small group of us gathered in the sewers. Longshot gave commands while Quark handed out the guns I helped smuggle to them. I remember being so... _proud_. I was ready to fight for my husband’s home, his people. I wanted...I wanted to prove myself to them, to-to him.”

“There was nothing to prove,” Hank frowns down at her. 

Alison meets his eyes. “To me there was. Longshot, he is - he _was_ \- so selfless, so _incredibly_ selfless. And I just...I wanted to help. I just wanted to help. And then...” she shudders. “We heard them. How many, I’ll never know. But the sound of their snorting and howling and growling was enough.” 

“Warwolves?” Rogue whispers. 

Alison nods, no longer bothering to control her shaking. “We had no choice but to run. If Mojo’s pack found us...if-if he got to Longshot.” 

Bobby gently grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze. “It’s good that you ran. It was the right thing to do.” 

Alison shakes her head. “Longshot wouldn’t leave. He ordered everyone out and said he’d rather die defending his wife and his people before he ever let Mojo have any of us.” Her tears fall again and she did not bother to wipe them away. “He _demanded_ Quark to take me out of the sewers. I-I should have stayed with him.”

“No Daz, honey.” Rogue sits next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. Alison leans into the hug. “He wouldn’t have wanted you hurt.” 

“I should have fought _with_ him! My powers would have been more than enough to fend off the warwolves.” She continued. “I _begged_ him but he wouldn’t listen!” She pants and grows hysterical as she recalls her final moments with her husband. “I-I don’t - I don’t understand why!” She grips Rogue’s sleeve and looks from Bobby to Hank. “Why would he - why would -”

“Because he loved you, Ali,” Bobby answers softly. He offers a small smile and takes her hand in his. “He loved you _so much_. He wasn’t going to put you in harm’s way. Ever.”

“But I was part of his rebellion!” She yells. Anger grows in her core. “His entire planet was at war, damn it! I _knew_ what I was getting into!” 

“We know,” Rogue runs a gloved hand up and down Ali’s arm. “And he knew. But sugah, Ah think Longshot was always gonna send yah off. He ain’t the type to let others fight his battles.” 

Alison wipes at her eyes and looks away from them.

*

_“Come with me,” She begs. Her hands find his and she brings them to her heart. “We can leave this place. We can go back to New York, to the X-Men.”_

_He frees a hand and cups her face. His smile is sad as he strokes her cheeks with his thumb. “My people deserve their freedom. I can’t abandon them.”_

_“Don’t send me away, Longshot. Please.” Her eyes are blurry with tears. This is the end, her gut tells her. This is where he will die. In the bottom of a damp sewer, a pack of warwolves feeding on his corpse. “Let me help you.”_

_“Alison…” His voice breaks. Gently, he lowers his face and presses his lips to hers. His kiss is soft and sad and she can’t help but grip his jacket and press herself against him. She can taste her own tears. She can feel him shake. And when he pulls away, she feels her heart shatter. “You must go. Follow Quark out of the tunnels and hide yourselves in the shadows of the city. Make your way to Arize at the edge of the forests. He’ll help you get home. I’ll hold off Mojo’s dogs as long as I can.”_

_“I’m not-”_

_“Quark,” Longshot commands. “Take her out of here.”_

_“What?! Long-” she’s hauled away by Quark’s strong arms wrapping around her middle and yanking. “No!”_

_“Come on!” The ram-man grunts. “Don’t fight it! You’ll only make it harder for him!”_

_Alison struggles in his grasp, finds her footing, and tries to run back to Longshot. “We can’t leave him!”_

_“If we stay, we’re as good as dead! You think he wants that? To see his wife ripped to shreds by those beasts?!” He grabs her wrist and tugs her along while he sprints._

_She nearly trips, but Quark snaps her back upright and pulls her down the sewer tunnel. She looks over her shoulder and sees Longshot standing, his back to her, knives held between his fingers. He’s ready. He’s waiting._ _  
_ _  
_ _“My lasers!” She yanks again. “My lasers can take out the whole lot of them!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Girl, you shoot and you blast us all to Hell. You wanna bring down the entire city on us? What good’ll that do? What good is this rebellion if you kill everyone?”_

_At least they’ll have their freedom, she thinks._

_*_

“My heart was pounding. I felt so guilty,” Alison whispers, her eyes far away, seeing what the others could not. “I left him. I knew he was going to die. _I_ _felt it._ ” 

*

_A fight. She can hear a fight. Growls and snaps and barks and grunts and yelps and swearing and explosions and shrieks. She can’t tell which are Longshot and it makes her stomach drop, her head swirl, and her heart scream in agony._

_“We have -”_

_“We’re not turning back.” Quark barks at her._

_“But we could -”_

_“I got orders.”_

_“From_ **_my_ ** _husband!”_

_“Look,” Quark whips around a corner and yanks her wrist to follow. They stop, backs against the cement wall and Quark bends down to bring his face to hers, glaring at her. “You’re not listening. He. Doesn’t. Want. You. There. And he_ **_knew_ ** _you’d be like this. That’s why he appointed me as your guardian.”_

_Alison frowns and clenches her fists. “I don’t need a guardian!”_

_“Babysitter, whatever.”_

_“Ugh,” She scoffs. “Asshole.” She turns and makes to leave. But again, he reaches for her, grabs her shirt collar and pulls her back. “God! Don’t choke me, you fucking -”_

_“You go back there and I got no choice but to follow you. And I ain’t about to let Mojo’s dogs drag me back to slavery.” Again he grabs her wrist, holding tightly. “You’re coming with me.” He moves passed her and peers around the corner to survey the tunnel they’d just ran down. Echos of fighting float towards them, too jumbled to distinguish who still lived._

_“Come on,” Quark mutters. “There’s a way out up ahead.”_

_Not a second later, a flash of light nearly blinds them both and then a laughter follows and sends chills through Alison. Spiral stands before them, a sickly grin spread across her face. Of her six hands, four hold weapons - two daggers, a nunchuck, and a sword._

_Without hesitating, she swings at Quark with her nunchuck. He ducks and leaps back, shoving Alison behind him._

_“No!”_

_Ali’s heart somehow soars and clenches. She knows that voice. She whips around to see Longshot sprinting towards them._

_“Alison!” He shouts again. He’s limping. Was he bleeding too? And were those…_ _  
_ _  
_ _“No,” she trembles, seeing the pack of warwolves chasing after him. He’d tried to escape, thinking Quark had gotten her to safety and he could turn and save his own life. But they weren’t out of the tunnel yet. And Spiral had found them. And Longshot was being hunted by monsters._

_“Longshot!” She cries and rushes towards him._  
_  
_ _He’s frantically waving his hand. “Go! Go! Get out of here!_ **_Go!_ **” 

_A warwolf makes a leap and snaps at Longshot’s heals, barely missing. The others follow it’s lead and soon the pack is moving faster and jumping at him, snapping for his legs, his arms, his jacket, anything they can use to drag him down._

*

“I forgot everything then... All my training, everything…. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.”

*

_Behind her Quark is grunting and swiping at Spiral with a dagger in one hand while he shoots at her with his gun in the other. He’s quick for such a big creature, but Spiral is ruthless and cracks her nunchuck across his skull, sending the ram-man down to the ground with a thud._

_“Alison!” Longshot screams, still too far. If she could just move faster. Why wasn’t she moving faster? Her body feels like it’s slugging through mud. Why though? Was this panic? No, she’s an X-Men. She’s been in so many battles that she’s lost count, has nearly lost her life multiple times._

_Her life wasn’t her concern. Her husband’s was._

_“Come on,” she grumbles. “Move! Come on, damn it!” If her legs would just respond to her brain. If she could just get -_

_He falls. A warwolf sinking its teeth into his calf and tearing at the flesh. Longshot yells in pain, rolls to his back, kicks the beast with his other foot and scrambles backward on his hands and one working foot. Blood seeps through his pant leg. A lot of blood...too much blood…_

*

“And then I was here.” She blinks and looks back at her friends, not bothering to wipe her tears away. “And I don’t know why or how.” 

“My God, Alison,” Hank speaks around a lump in his throat. 

“Sugah,” Rogue starts. “Ah’m so sorry. Ah can’t even -” 

Alison shakes her head and casts her eyes down to her lap. “Please leave.” Her voice breaks. “I’d like to be alo-”

Bobby reaches across her bed, wraps his arms around her and pulls her to him. He tucks her head under his chin. He’s solid, stable, something to anchor to. 

And at this, Dazzler sobs. 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided this is definitely an AU.
> 
> And Marco Bizzarri is the CEO of Gucci, just fyi.

_ Two _

There is a nagging unknown in the back of her mind; she’s forgotten something important. As her days blur together, leeching her of stamina and what little motivation might have remained inside her, the constant question of  _ what  _ ticks, ticks, ticks. 

It leaves her laying awake at night. Too restless to close her eyes, she stares at the ceiling and lets her mind wander. She remembers an apocalyptic world covered in smog. Starving children and weeping mothers waiting for news of the rebellion, wishing for success, wishing their men could come home. A blob of a creature with manic eyes and a sharp, terrifying smile. A swirl of arms and swords. Bullet shells, fire, rubble, dirty water, explosions, shattered glass, broken pipelines, fear, fear,  _ fear.  _

_ Longshot.  _ A lump forms in her throat when she envisions him. Beautiful blue eyes, full of hope and grit. The warm smile he gave freely to every shy child staring in awe at the Fallen Messiah. His tall frame, massed with lean muscle and skin as soft as a leather jacket from Prada. Hands worn rough from years of fighting, yet always gentle when helping others escape the city and wild of Mojoworld. 

She commits every inch of him to memory.  _ I will not forget you _ , she vows. Her eyes are wet with tears. 

Hours slip by and soon the sun is rising. Alison sighs and rubs her eyes, ignoring their ache from another sleepless night. She knows she should try to rest, but really she cannot bring herself to care. And on the rare occasions when she does submit to slumber, her dreams are filled with warwolves and her husband’s blood. 

She’s been moved from the small bed in the Medbay to private quarters shared with Anna Marie. She doesn’t mind; Rogue is usually absent anyway. Her bed is nice, soft and filled with cushions. She hates it and would give anything to be lying on the hard, compacted dirt of Mojoworld, so long as Longshot was lying next to her. 

Hank visits her daily with a list of inquiries regarding her condition. Sometimes his questions are repeated from previous sessions. Alison answers in monotone, staring at the ceiling, hands folded atop her stomach as she lies on top of her comforter. She knows Hank is trying to piece together an assessment of her condition. But her injuries have already healed. All that’s left is the post-traumatic anxiety and depression that feasts on her. 

Bobby stays for hours when he comes to check on her sometime in the afternoon. He brings food and beer and hunkers himself down on top of Alison’s bed. He talks enough for the both of them and soon Ali is up to date on all the happenings around the institute and the X-Men. 

Logan is missing and has been for months. Laura has left to find him. And Remy has gone to find  _ her _ .

Sam and Rahne are expected to arrive sometime within the next month to assist with training exercises for the students. 

Kurt is in Europe visiting Brian and Meggan; he’d asked Rachel to go, but she declined. 

Betsy just arrived last night and plans to stay through the holidays. Warren will be arriving in a few weeks. 

And Ororo…

“Storm’s not doing great,” Bobby admitted. “I mean, she’s as strong as ever - that’s Ororo. But, it’s just…” he lets out a sigh and offers her a sad half-smile. “I don’t think she likes being Headmistress very much.” 

Alison has nothing to say to that. She let’s Bobby go on and on about life at the New York Institute. They’re in loose contact with Scott and Emma in San Francisco, but rarely see them. Kitty, Illyanna, and Piotr have been in Russia since last Christmas. Jubilee was in California. Dani was in Montana. Alex went back to New Mexico. Erik was in California. 

“Who?” She frowns. 

“Erik,” Bobby repeats. “Lenshurr.” 

She gawks at him. “Erik Lenshurr?  _ Magneto? _ ” 

He nods and swallows a bite of the sandwich he’d brought with him. “Yeah, I mean, for a while it was really weird. Yah know, since he’s been our enemy for like, years. But, I dunno man.” He shrugs. “Rogue says he’s changed.” 

Ali furrows her brow. “How would she know?” 

Again Bobby shrugs. “She spends half her time in California on missions with him.”

“Oh,” she reaches for one of Bobby’s potato chips and suppresses a moan once it touches her tongue. “God, these are good. I can’t remember the last time I had something with salt.” 

Bobby smiles and doesn’t make a joke about the cuisine of the Mojoverse. She’s grateful. 

“How does Remy feel about Anna being in California?” 

“I haven’t asked, but I imagine it's not very good.” Bobby pops the cap of a beer off, blows on it to chill the contents, and passes her the bottle before repeating the process for himself. “What can the guy do? They’re on a team together.” 

Ali has no comment and so sips her beer. It’s nice, she thinks, to have this distraction; talking about people she’s known for years as if their lives were these grand soap operas and so removed from her own reality. 

She looks up at Bobby and watches as he finishes his sandwich and beer. There are crumbs on his face that give him a clumsy, boyish charm. He’s come to see her nearly everyday since she arrived three weeks ago, just to sit with her and feed her. He fills her silent room with chatter, never minding if she opts out of conversation. Sometimes he will mention a cute guy he saw at a Starbucks, or a mailman on his route, or a professor on the subway, reading quietly behind square framed glasses and an amused, gentle smile. 

Other times he’s stressed as he speaks of missions and battles and injuries. Being an X-Men is draining. And Bobby has been one for so long, she wonders if he still views it as a choice. 

“Do you ever wish your life was ordinary?” Alison asks softly. 

Bobby sets his empty beer bottle down on the ground. “What do you consider  _ ordinary _ ?” 

She bites her bottom lip. “Not having to...live like this.”    
  
“Like what? In a gigantic mansion with a kick-ass basement?” 

Ali rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. To not have to  _ do  _ all this.” She waves her hand around. “Save people. Fight monsters and criminals and ignorant assholes who hate us because we’re different. If you could do it all over again, would you choose a normal life instead of being an X-Men?” 

“No.” He doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “No, I wouldn’t live a normal life. I’ve  _ tried _ to live a normal life. Accounting sucked; I’m meant to be an X-Men.” 

She chews her bottom lip and looks down at her drink. Was  _ she _ meant to be an X-Men? She’d never truly felt so; singing had always been her passion. Could she have been wrong? Was being an X-Men her calling?

It’d been so long since she’d been on stage or even hummed a tune. It’d all seemed so unimportant in retrospect. Her life up until recently had been about surviving and conquering the enemy. She’d never really had the heart to sing while in the Mojoverse. Though singing was her greatest talent, and Longshot had always loved her voice, Ali refrained from divulging. His people were at war and fleeing from chaos. Singing would’ve been useless and ultimately selfish of her to flaunt. 

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do anymore,” she confesses. 

Bobby shrugs. “Do whatever you want. You have an opportunity to start completely over. It’s not like we’re gonna tie you down and force you to be an X-Men. You’re a free person, Ali.” 

She’s quiet for the remainder of his visit. 

  
  


-

  
  


By evening Betsy comes to say hello. She smiles kindly and it still strikes Alison as odd that Betsy’s face is not her own. 

“I’m sorry,” Ali mutters. “I know it’s been years, but -”

“Don’t.” Betsy shakes her head. “I’m not offended. And I can’t tell you how often I’ve surprised myself in the mirror.” 

The talk turns to Betsy’s European vacation with her husband, and when Ali asks how Warren’s doing, Psylocke scoffs. “He’s a right royal pain in my arse.” Her brow furrows as she frowns. “He and Brian nearly came to blows when we were visiting in London! While Meggan and I chatted at the bar in the lounge,  _ they _ spent the night playing poker, drinking their weight in scotch, and squabbling like two rotten school boys. And now they’re banned from The Colony Club and Warren owes Brian thirteen-thousand dollars.” 

“ _ Thirteen-thousand?!” _

Betsy shrugs. “Well, he’s certainly good for it. He just refuses to pay as a point of principle. He’s in Rome now, on assignment from Scott. Though I do wish he’d hurry up and come to New York. Our apartment is dreadfully quiet without his broodiness taking up space.” 

Alison almost chuckles. Almost. It felt deceitful to find humor in anything her friends said or did. As if she shouldn’t be given the luxury of lightheartedness when the multiverse's most fun-loving and jovial man was no longer alive to enjoy it. She averts her eyes to the floor and coughs. 

“I’m so sorry,” Betsy says softly. The playfulness is gone from her voice, replaced by a tone of sympathy. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re feeling.” 

Ali wraps her arms around herself to suppress a shiver. “Yeah, it’s, uh...it’s rough.” 

“If you like,” Psylocke slowly raises her hand. “I can read you. I know from experience that it is sometimes easier than talking.” 

Though they are not the closest of friends, Dazzler nods her permission. There’s a slight strain in her mind as Betsy works through the initial defense against her telepathy. And then it feels like an opening of floodgates as the torment from the last month is pulled out. When she’s finished there are tears slipping down Ali’s cheeks and Betsy hugs her fiercely. 

When she pulls away, she tilts Ali’s chin up with her perfectly manicured fingertips. “There is nothing I could say to ease your grief, darling. And I’m sorry for that. But what I  _ can  _ do is take you out of this room and into Manhattan for an early dinner and a bit of shopping.” 

“Oh,” Alison wipes her eyes. “No, that’s alright. I -” 

“Hush now.” Betsy interrupts. “ _ Jimmy Choo _ just released their autumn line. And the menu at  _ Daniel _ has been updated since I last had dinner there.”

“Betsy, I’m broke. I can’t pay for food and new shoes.”    
  
Psylocke waves her off. “Yes, I know. Come now, you didn’t really think I wouldn’t  _ pay,  _ did you? Darling, I’m a  _ Braddock _ married to a  _ Worthington _ . I could  _ buy  _ the entire  _ Jimmy Choo Company  _ without breaking a sweat. Thrice over.” 

She flashes Ali a smile. “Come have a bit of fun, Dazzy.” 

“I-I…” Alison whispers. “I don’t think I should.”

Betsy reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “He would want you to go on, Alison. He wouldn’t want you to be alone and sad all the time. You’ve always been so vibrant and colorful. Don’t let yourself fade away.” 

She clutches Betsy’s fingertips as if they are her lifeline. She used to be so fearless. Her days weren’t spent melting with her nights and becoming one long, endless stream of sorrow and bleakness. She’d been happy, once. Her husband made her happy. And before him she’d been happy as a young woman in her early twenties, singing center stage for sold out shows and blasting villains alongside the X-Men. Longshot would want her to chase her happiness again. 

Shaking, she relents. “Okay. Yes,” she nods. “I...I don’t want to let him down.” 

Betsy brightens. “Brilliant! Shall we take my Mercedes or Warren’s Jaguar?” 

-

Dinner at  _ Daniel _ was absolutely exquisite and  _ Jimmy Choo’s _ latest line of pumps were to die for. Alison sits patiently while the salesman helps Betsy decide on her third pair for purchase. 

“I just love the plum stilettos,” her friend coos. Betsy eyes the shoes lovingly. “I’ll need a pair, of course, and another in black, and a pair of the slingbacks in lavender.”

“The lavender does not release until spring, Miss Braddock.” 

Betsy gives the man a sly smile. “Darling, the lavender is available whenever I want. And it is  _ Mrs.  _ Braddock-Worthington, best not forget.” 

“Yes, of course .” He turns to Alison. “And for you, ma’am?”

Ali holds up her own pair of black pumps and smiles. “Just these for me, thanks.” 

“Come now, darling,” Betsy chides. “The silver pair looked marvelous on you. You must get them as well.” 

“Betsy, it’s too-”

“Hush now. It’s a gift from me.” 

“You said  _ these _ were a gift from you.” Alison holds up her black stilettos again. 

Betsy rolls her eyes. “Fine. The silvers are a gift from  _ Warren _ . I promise you, he won’t mind. Or even notice the bill, truth be told.” 

A small smile briefs her face before she rolls her eyes and asks the waiting salesman for a pair of the silver stilettos as well. 

“Right then,” Betsy claps her hands once all has been settled. “Put these all on my account and please ship the packages to my SoHo address.” She turns to Ali with a wide smile. “Now, on to Gucci. Shall we?” 

-

A lazy breeze strolls alongside Alison and Betsy as they take the opportunity to walk Manhattan’s sidewalk and chit chat. The late August sun causes the pavement to radiate heat and the women fan themselves with their hands, the bustle of energetic city slickers doing nothing to help combat the high temperature. 

“I just  _ love  _ New York City.” Betsy declares. She links her arm with Ali’s and tosses her shining black hair, purple highlights catching in the sunshine. “It’s terribly different from anywhere else I’ve ever been. And I mean that with a gracious amount of love.” 

Alison nods her agreement. “Why don’t you guys stay here permanently?” 

“Oh,” Betsy frowns. “Because my husband is an oaf. He’s apparently happiest playing soldier for Scott Summers,  _ instead  _ of being here with  _ me _ .” She scoffs. “Darling, I swear, if he wasn’t disgustingly delicious, I would have divorced him by now. But unlucky for me, he is absolutely gorgeous and I fear I am hopelessly devoted to him. Even with his head stuck up his arse.” 

“Stuck up Scott’s ass, you mean.” 

Betsy throws her head back and laughs loudly. “Quite right. Whatever am I to do?”    
  
“Have you talked to him?”

“Oh, hundreds of times,” Betsy shrugs. “And that is why he’s making the effort to come home for a bit of time off. Of course, I had to threaten him a little, but I do believe he enjoyed it. Ah, here we are!” 

Gucci is full of fluttering Manhattanites spending their salaries and trust funds, but as soon as the two X-Men cross the threshold a woman in delicate red rimmed glasses approaches them. 

“Betsy, dear! I was wondering when you would visit us again.” 

Psylocke smiles and extends her hand to pull the other woman in for the kind of cheeky kiss-kiss that Alison has only ever seen in movies. “Martha! Delighted to see you, darling.” She gestures to Ali. “This is a very close friend of mine, Alison Blaire. I trust you’ll take care of her?”    
  
“Oh, of course. Come now, with that gorgeous blonde hair, I’m sure we’ll have the easiest time finding your perfect fall wardrobe.”    
  
“What?” Ali looks at Betsy. “Betsy, that’s too much. I  _ can’t _ .”   
  


“Tut, tut, tut.” Betsy shakes her head. “I won’t hear of it.” She takes Ali’s hand. “Just wait, the private rooms are the most delicious of interior designs.” 

Betsy then follows Martha and leads Ali to an elevator that takes them to a floor specific for styling the absolute richest of Gucci’s clients. Their room was a dream, lavishly decorated with accents of gold, comfortable seating areas, floor length mirrors bordered in crown molding, and sheer drapes in soft pastels. 

“Now, ladies,” Martha turns towards a rack of clothing near the windows. “Where would you like to begin?”   
  


Betsy crosses over to the impeccable selection and begins taking stock. “No furs for me this year, Martha. I’ve decided to fight the good fight for the animals from now on. And I really have enough fur to last me until my death.”    
  
“Shall I take away the leathers as well?”   
  
Betsy sighs like a broken hearted teenager. “I suppose you should. Yes, do it quickly before I cave. Let’s keep wool, though. I can only handle so much at once.” 

Martha obeys, rolling a rack filled with thousands of dollars worth of clothing out of the room.    
  
“Now,” Betsy pulls out a burnt orange cowl necked sweater from the lineup and holds it up against her chest. “How does this look?”   
  
Alison shrugs. “It looks nice.”   
  
Betsy rolls her eyes. “Oh come now, Dazzy. You’re stylish. Tell me what you really think.”   
  


She considers the piece for a moment, eyes darting from Betsy’s face to the garment a few times before she declares, “The maroon turtleneck will look better on you.”    
  
“Splendid!” Betsy hands her the burnt orange cowl and grabs the maroon piece. “Oh I do love this one. Delightfully soft. What else?”    
  
A quick scan through their options and Alison has a pile of skirts, dresses, sweaters, and lingerie for Betsy. Giddy with the selections, Psylocke begins the task of trying on each item and analyzing every aspect in one of the extravagant mirrors. Martha dutifully helps with the fitting and makes notes on an iPad while an assistant takes measurements.    
  
“Darling, these are marvelous!” Betsy coos. “I absolutely adore this jersey dress! I shall wear it to Thanksgiving this year for it’s debut.”

Alison smiles and rolls her eyes at her friend. “You’re ridiculous.”   
  
“Oh please,” Betsy waves her off. “I’m strategic with my clothing. I am considering purchasing a day planner simply for the act of scheduling my outfits. I must ensure I cycle through each piece properly.”    
  
Unable to imagine a life like  _ that _ , Ali chuckles and returns to the rack of clothing. She’s having fun, she realizes, and quickly bites down on the throes of guilt bubbling inside her.  _ Don’t do this now,  _ she coaches herself.  _ Please. Everything is okay. He-he would want you to have fun. He would want you to go out shopping with your friend and laugh and -  _

“And for you dear?” Martha is suddenly next to her with her iPad. “Looking for anything in particular?”    
  
“Oh,” she clears her throat, trying to rid the anxiousness rising inside of her. “No. Nothing in particular. I don’t have events like Betsy.”    
  
“Now, surely you have reasons to go out?” Martha flips through the clothing and grabs a silk cocktail dress. “Here dear, a dress like this will have the men lining up to take you out.” 

She freezes, staring at the woman before she gulps and says with a shaking voice, “I’m married.”   
  
Martha raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? I’m sorry, I didn’t see a ring on your finger.”    
  
A beat, and then. “He’s dead.”    
  
“Oh, my,” Martha frowns. “Oh but dear, you’re not  _ married _ , you’re  _ widowed _ .”

  
“Martha!” Betsy turns abruptly. Her eyes are flaming with anger. “How  _ dare _ you!”    
  
The other woman attempts a defense, but Betsy is relentless, raising her voice higher and louder to assert the  _ idiocy  _ of Martha’s insensitive correction.    
  
Alison can only hear a ringing in her ears and feel the pounding of her heart. “I-I,” She stammers. She doesn’t bother with standing up for herself - Betsy is doing a fine job of that - and instead, turns to flee from the room. As she runs, she can hear Betsy screaming at someone to get Marco Bizzarri on the phone  _ immediately. _

She has to get away. 

Fortunately the elevator is empty and she manages to press for the correct floor. The thumping of her chest and the buzzing in her head and the haunting  _ widow, widow, widow _ makes her want to collapse. She resists the urge until the elevator opens for her and she’s rushing through the ground floor and bursting out the front doors. Her knees buckle and she drops to the cement, just barely catching herself on the sidewalk. On all fours, she dry heaves, ignoring the people who skirt around her. It’s not until a breeze chills her face that she realizes there are tears on her cheeks. She’s crying and shaking and all she wants is to get back to the Institute and hide.    
  


She lurches to stand and takes the first cab she sees, unaware of the couple she steals it from. She mutters an address to the cabbie and leans her head against the window, the glass cool on her hot skin. 

_ Widow, widow, widow… _ the word echoes through her head. Louder and longer and deeper, making her anxious, making her hurt. There’s not enough air.  _ Clearly _ , there’s not enough air and she’s going to suffocate. She gulps and pants and shakes in the backseat. The driver looks at her warily in the rearview mirror.    
  
“Lady? You alright?” His Staten Island accent is thick. “Yo, please don’t throw up. It’s my first day on the job.” 

She ignores him and focuses on breathing in,  _ one, two, three, four _ ...and breathing out,  _ one, two, three, four _ … 

Blessedly, it’s Saturday and rush hour traffic is reserved for the Monday through Friday working New Yorkers. The drive to Westchester takes under an hour and by the time they arrive Alison’s stopped hyperventilating. 

She’s out of the cab before it’s rolled to a stop, rushing to the front doors and neglecting to leave her driver any compensation. She slams the doors open, choking on sobs as she rushes by the confused stares of Ororo and Bobby in the foyer.    
  


“Ali!” Bobby shouts after her; she climbs the stairs two at a time as fast as she can. He doesn’t follow. 

-

Hours later, Betsy finds Alison curled on the floor of her bedroom closet, sobbing over the brown leather jacket she’d worn when she came through Alice The Portal. It’s ripped and burnt, with spots of blood like patchwork. Ali clings to it with white knuckles, crying and biting her bottom lip until it bleeds. 

“Oh Alison,” Betsy whispers and drops to her knees next to her friend. “Darling, I am  _ so _ sorry.” She swallows a lump in her throat.    
  
Too upset to form words, Dazzler can only continue to sob. She doesn’t stop when Betsy pulls her up and wraps her arms around her, but instead buries her face in the other woman’s shoulder and shakes.    
  
“You must breathe, Alison. In and out. With me now.” Betsy takes a deep breath, holds for a few seconds, and then lets it out slowly.    
  
She tries, fails, tries again, and then collapses into more sobbing until finally, her wails are whimpers and she can match Psylocke’s breathing.    
  
“There now,” Betsy rubs her back. “Just like that.” She pulls away to look at Ali. She wipes away the tears and cups her face. “Martha will  _ never _ work in Manhattan again and I bought the entire collection for you. It shall arrive in a week.” 

Alison opens her mouth to protest, but Betsy shakes her head firmly. “Don’t you dare. That cow deserved it. And  _ you _ deserve every piece of finery the store can offer.” 

“I don’t care about the clothes or Martha,” Ali shakes her head. She wills herself to look up and lock eyes with her friend. “He’s gone, Betsy. He’s  _ gone _ . Nothing else matters to me.”    
  
Psylocke prides herself on being a sensible person, with an ironclad grip on her emotions; she rarely reveals anything deeper than a flirty smile or frown full of detest.    
  


However, she is not made of stone. She bats her eyelashes against the tears that form. Still holding Alison’s face in her hands, she whispers, “I will  _ never _ speak of this day again. No one will ever know what has happened.” 

-

When finally coaxed into bed, Alison lays quietly sniffling. Betsy sits in a chair closeby, her own eyes closed and two fingers lighting touching her temple. She concentrates and soon she feels the bridge from her consciousness to Alison’s. Working quickly, she silences the pain and sorrow from Dazzler’s cortex long enough to reach into her long-term memories. 

She pulls out Australia. 

Alison sighs.

_ Longshot sits next to her on a roof of an abandoned building in the ghost town the X-Men currently call home. His knees are pulled up and he’s hooked his arms around them, fingers clasped casually as he looks to the horizon of the setting sun.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “You’re like the sun,” Alison says quietly next to him.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ He smiles at her. “Really? You think so?” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ She nods. “Of course. You’re so warm, all the time. And you shine, in a way.”  _

_ His smile broadens. “Well, if I’m like the sun, you’re the wind.”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “What?” She giggles.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “You’re wild,” he explains. “And pushy. And you can be loud and fierce and sometimes a little scary.”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Oh,” she bites her lip and looks disappointed. “I, uh, I…”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ He nudges his shoulder against hers. “I like wild and pushy.”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Ali scoffs. “Sure. Right.”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “I do,” he insists. “I even like loud.” He shrugs. “I’m loud, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “And scary?” _ _  
  
_

_ He chuckles. “You’re only a little scary. Sometimes. And you’ve never been scary with me. I think you just have this incredible power that, really, can kill people. And that’s a little scary. But  _ you _ are not scary. You’re fierce, absolutely, because you’re passionate and you care about stuff, people, whatever. But also…” he ducks his head down for a second and then looks up at her through his long lashes. “Wind is beautiful.”  _ _  
  
_

_ She furrows her brow. “You can’t see the wind.”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “But you can see what it does. Like when it twirls leaves around, or...other stuff.” He turns towards her. “I’m trying to say you’re beautiful. I think you’re beautiful.”  _

_ There’s a flutter in her heart. “Really?” she whispers.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Yes,” he nods and she can see his cheeks turning pink. He’s so adorable, it sends a tingle through her. “Yes. I have a terrible way of saying it, apparently. But I think you’re beautiful and I -” He cuts himself off and purses his lips together before letting out a frustrated breath. “I really want to kiss you, Alison. Sometimes it’s all I can think about when we’re hanging out. And I -” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Do it. Please do it. Kiss me.”  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ And so he does. His hands cup her face and he lowers his mouth to hers and everything is soft and sweet and innocent and he moans a little before breaking away from her.  _

_ And Alison knows she’s falling in love.  _

-

As Dazzler sleeps peacefully, Betsy remains on guard. She no longer needs to hold a psychic link between them; now that she’s pushed pleasant memories of Alison and Longshot from their past, she’s able to sit and process all that’s happened in the day. 

Sighing, she wraps her arms around herself. She feels horrendous for her part in today’s dilemma. She’d known there would be a risk of a mental meltdown when she’d convinced Ali to leave her isolation. Yet, as the day progressed and Dazzler refrained from any sort of collapse or debilitating emotional distress, Betsy thought herself a genius and simply slacked in ensuring she was taking her friend to a safe environment. 

Seeing Ali’s face pale, eyes suddenly rapidly blinking, body shaking, voice stammering as she tried to latch to words, had been  _ terrible.  _ She’d fought alongside the woman for years, and never had she seen Dazzler submit to a panic attack. And to find her crumpled on the floor of a closet, practically screaming bloody murder as she cried...

She sighs again and, before she can kick herself, pulls out her phone and dials the first number on the speed dial. It rings. And rings. She’s sent to voicemail.

  
“Warren. It’s - it’s me. Darling, you were right, and I am  _ so sorry _ . Please come home. Please? I - I miss you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been to Gucci. I have absolutely no idea if there are actual personal styling rooms like I've included in this chapter. 
> 
> Also, writing Betsy was super fun. I know this version is different from what we're all used to from the comics and movies. But, y'know, AU. *shrugs*


End file.
